


Visitor's Day

by JetGirl1832, tomatopudding



Series: Friends Make Life A Lot More Fun [12]
Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: Canon Compliant, During Canon, F/M, Family, Gen, Humor, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 03:26:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4988359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JetGirl1832/pseuds/JetGirl1832, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomatopudding/pseuds/tomatopudding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She may not approve of his life choices, but Mark's mom still likes to come and visit the loft every once and while.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>July 1990</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visitor's Day

**Author's Note:**

> Some more canon time levity.

Mimi was sitting on the long metal table in the kitchen wearing one of Roger’s tee-shirts as she watched the musician making coffee that morning.

“Sleep well?” Roger asked as he turned on the hot plate.

“About as well as I could in the black hole you call a mattress,” Mimi teased.

“I will deprive you of the caffeine you crave if you can’t behave,” Roger glanced at her over his shoulder.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Mimi glared.

The phone began to ring in the loft, and instead of anyone rushing to answer it they simply continued what they were doing as it went to voicemail.

“SPEEEEEEEEAAAAAAK…”  
  


“Seriously why is that your voicemail?” Mimi asked as it began.

“Mark? Mark are you there? It’s Mom, I wanted to let you know that I’ll be in the city today and will be stopping by in a couple of hours to see you, hope all is well. Love, Mom!”

 

The voice mail came to an end and the door to the loft opened as Mark walked inside, obviously returning from an early morning filming bike ride.

 

He calmly unwound his scarf from his neck and dropped his messenger bag onto the couch, “You about done with the coffee?” Mark called to Roger.

“Soon enough, oh and by the way your mom just called,” Roger replied as he leaned back against the counter.

“What does she want now? Mark adjusted his glasses.

“She’s stopping in for a visit,” Roger replied, “just thought you might want to know.”

“What?” Mark walked over to the table, “why?”

“Didn’t say anything other then she’ll be here in a couple hours,” Roger shrugged.

“Fuck!” Mark groaned as he looked at the loft, “great now we have to actually put this place in order,” he muttered as he started picking up stuff and putting it in piles.”  
  


“What’s up with Mark?” Mimi turned to Roger.

“Mama Cohen is coming for a visit,” Roger replied handing her a mug with coffee, “gotta make this place look presentable.”

“Oh,” Mimi replied as she took a sip.

“Hey you two,” Mark called out to them, “could use some help.”

“Come on Meems, lets help the poor bastard,” Roger shook his head.

Together the three of them worked on making the loft acceptable for motherly eyes, it wasn’t perfect but the beer bottles were gone. For the most part the floors had been swept, the table wiped down. For a run down, old music publishing factory in the East Village it didn’t look half bad.

“Well, I’m hijacking the shower,” Mimi casually walked past them and went into the bathroom.

Mark sat at the table leaning on his elbows.

“Why are you so nervous?” Roger asked as he heard the door click shut and the water turn on.

“My mother is dropping in unannounced, this doesn’t happen,” Mark replied with a sigh.

 

“Oh come off it,” Roger shook his head, “judging by the voicemail she just wants to check up and see how her baby his doing-”

Mark turned bright red, “Please don’t ever say that again.”

“We’ve known each other practically forever, I can say whatever the hell I like,” Roger smiled, “I’ve earned that right.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” Mark rolled his eyes, the two of them fell into silence for a bit, the only noise being that of the running water in the shower.

The phone rang twice before going to their voicemail, “SPEEEEEEAAAAAAAAK….”

 

“Mark? Are you there? I’m downstairs and the door is locked-”

“Duty calls,” Roger gave him a mock salute, “be sure to come back alive, Private.”

Mark glared at Roger before grabbing his keys and heading out of the loft to let his mother in. As they headed back up the stairs, Roger could hear Mrs. Cohen chattering in the stairway.

“Oh, Marky how can you stand living in a place like this? Look at that graffiti on the walls-”

“It works for me Mom,” Mark replied, “besides it’s not that bad-” he pushed open the large industrial door to the loft. Mrs. Cohen seemed to be inspecting every inch of the place as she entered.

“Oh my, it is awfully gloomy in here,” Mrs. Cohen adjusted her cat-eyed glasses, she then caught sight of Roger, “Oh Roger honey it’s so good to see you!” she gushed as she walked over to the musician, “stand up and let me take a good look at you!” Roger obliged and with a sigh stood up, even though he knew she made Mark crazy he couldn’t help but love the woman who was like a second mother to him.

“You’ve gotten so tall, a big strong man you are!” Mrs. Cohen smiled, “but are you eating enough dear? I could always send you care packages or-”

“Mom it’s fine,” Mark interrupted his mother.

“Alright dear, if you’re sure,” Mrs. Cohen sat on the couch (which slowly started to sink) with her legs crossed at the ankles and her hands folded in her lap.

It was then that the door to the bathroom opened and Mimi stepped out with a towel wrapped around herself, “Hey guys, have you seen my bra anywhere I swear I-” she stopped when she realized that it wasn’t just Mark and Roger their anymore. Her cheeks flushed as she stared at Mrs. Cohen, blinking owlishly.

Mark’s eyes went wide and all color drained from his face while Roger was struggling with holding in his laughter.

Mimi tried to regain her composure, “Ummm.. If you’ll excuse me just for a second…” She then hastily made her way to Roger’s room and slipped in.

“Mark, who was that?” Mrs. Cohen raised her eyebrows, she looked concerned.

“That was Mimi,” Mark replied quietly, “she spent the night here.”

Roger couldn't hold it any more and let out a bark of laughter, "She half lives here, man."

“That’s not exactly true,” Mark was starting to regain color but it was mostly due to embarrassment, and it was beginning to spread to the tips of his ears.

“Whatever you say,” Roger smirked.

Mrs. Cohen looked even more concerned than she did before, Mimi then emerged from the room wearing what was considered normal by her own standards. This included a rather short plaid skirt that flared out slightly over a pair of purple fishnets and a tight tanktop that had some lace along the top. She sat down on the opposite end of the couch from where Mrs. Cohen was sitting.

 

“I’m really sorry about earlier,” she began to apologize.

“Oh dear it’s alright,” Mrs. Cohen put on a smile, but she seemed to be eying Mimi warily.

“I’m Mimi by the way,” Mimi replied in her usual friendly manner.

“Nice to meet you,” Mrs. Cohen held out her hand which Mimi shook in return, “so what can you tell me about yourself?”

Mimi shrugged and put her hands in her lap, “What do you want to know?”

“Have you always lived in New York?” Mrs. Cohen began.

“City girl through and through,” Mimi smiled, “I’m from the Bronx.”

“And what is it that you do?” Mrs. Cohen continued.

Mimi thought it odd but replied nonetheless, “Well, I’m a dancer by trade,” like hell was she going to admit to working at the Cat Scratch Club to Mark’s mother.

Mrs. Cohen smiled, oblivious to Mimi's true meaning, "How wonderful! I've always admired those ballerinas. So much training time. Mark’s sister wanted to be a dancer.”

“Mom,” Mark cast a glance at his mom.

"She didn't have the time to continue, though. Too many other extra-curriculars and she ended up choosing the debate team instead," Mrs. Cohen sighed, "Such a shame. She was a beautiful dancer."

"Mom... I'm sure Mimi doesn't need to hear every detail of Cindy's aborted dance career," Mark sighed.

"Oh, hush, Mark," Mrs. Cohen scolded. A light blush appeared on Mark's cheeks and he shut him mouth with a snap, chastised.

Roger chuckled at the exchange, this was typical and such a thing he had seen very frequently in the times he had gone to Mark’s house over the years.

Mrs. Cohen then turned her attention back to Mimi, "So, Mimi, is that short for anything?"

Mimi knit her brow together, her confusion growing as to why she appeared to be getting the third degree from Mrs. Cohen. Although it might have been as simple as the fact that she had never met Mimi before… But this was weird. “It’s short for Maria actually-”

“Maria? That’s a lovely name, it makes me think of West Side Story!” Mrs. Cohen’s face brightened.

“Please, just call me Mimi,” Mimi didn’t want to appear rude, but no one called her Maria, at least not in recent years, she glanced at Roger to see him giving her a look that clearly read, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh, alright,” Mrs. Cohen leaned back slightly, “Mimi it is, now dear it pleases me very much to see my son with someone especially with that whole fiasco last year. Which reminds me how is Maureen?”

It all clicked together in Mimi’s mind, Mrs. Cohen thought that she was with Mark?

 

“I’m sorry Mrs. Cohen I think that you’ve got this all-”

“Oh, dear, call me Rachel,” Mrs. Cohen beamed.

“Anyway, I think you don’t understand, Mark and I aren’t together,” Mimi explained.

“You aren’t?” Mrs. Cohen cocked her head.

“No,” Mimi shook her head.

“Yeah, sorry Mrs. C,” Roger interrupted, “I stole her away from him,” he replied in joking manner.

“Oh?” Mrs. Cohen turned to Roger, “so you and Mimi are together?”

Roger nodded his head, “Sorry for the confusion.”

“No need to apologize dear,” Mrs. Cohen let out a small laugh, “I wish you two all the best.”

"What's up bitches!”

Mark groaned at the familiar voice, of all the times for Collins to show up at the loft he chose now?

 

"Oh no,” he whispered as the door slid open to reveal Collins and Angel in all of their glory, a bottle of tequila in the philosopher's hand.

 

"Who's ready to get wasted?”

Mark put his head in his hands as his mother let out an indignant squawk.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story was one of the first ones completed (I actually think it was *the* first story completed) and was written entirely by JetGirl1832. Although we came up with the head canon together, it took us a little time before we started writing the fics in tandem (mostly over Facebook chat, but that's neither here nor there).


End file.
